


Having a good Mime?

by FalseProphet (Batmanthegroomer)



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batmanthegroomer/pseuds/FalseProphet
Summary: V.I.L.E. knows there is another agency out there spying on them--the audacity! Problem is they don't know anything and they can't get any leads. Except maybe one very inept detective who, conveniently, no longer works for Interpol but still seems to be leading investigations.Mime Bomb is sent to lure the detective in and learn anything he can about this new agency. He's been cleared to use any means necessary...(Set before The French Connection Caper)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Have a little plot with your porn but mostly just have some porn. Chapter one is just the set up.
> 
> French accents are hard and I am terrible at charades.

Chase Devineaux didn’t usually like a strong drink, quite contrary to what it may seem. In fact he usually preferred non-alcoholic beverages to boot, not a typical law enforcement agent no matter what agency he was working for. Not even a bump from Interpol to ACME changed his tastes, even with the increase in stress and security and… lack of privacy.

It was easy to dodge Julia after work—they were like an old movie trope, having absolutely nothing in common outside the workplace—but it was harder to dodge ACME. He was fairly certain they had bugged his phone, his car, his watch and maybe even his wardrobe. He wasn’t usually a paranoid person but he wasn’t usually a lot of things that recently he… well… was.

That was how he found himself in a strange divebar—really strange—with a whiskey. He wasn’t sure what the theme was but eccentric, new-age and performance art’y were good descriptors. He couldn’t tell who the wait staff was, everyone seemed to be in costume, and the menu was written in Rorschach. The note he’d been slipped on the streets of Amsterdam promised him that he could get inside intel on Carmen Sandiego inside the Geheime Verbindungen. He just wished the note had told him what to look for… everyone here looked like some kind of villain or worse—actors.

He sipped on his drink and wrinkled his nose as it burned all the way down. People actually enjoyed this enough to drink it regularly? He was desperate enough for a quick buzz and so he was gulping it down but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was poison. He missed his ginger ales but after trying to decipher the menu all his frustrated mind had provided him with was whiskey. He’d either been served by a waiter dressed as a mole or missed an opportunity to flirt with one who’d bought him a drink.

He felt inappropriately dressed but in a strange way, the way a parent might if they’d worn casual clothing to a children’s recital where the children were all decked out in miniature bow ties and black dresses. Damnit how he wished he could have gotten a lead anywhere else. At least Julia would never know he was here.

He let his dark, tired eyes wander over the gathered clientele. There were people in large hats, people in wigs, people in dresses, people in practically nothing, people covered from head-to-toe, people who looked like they were from the past or the future. He was starting to suspect this was less a bar and more a gathering of arrogant hipsters trying to find a new audience for their own particular brand of drama.

That’s when it saw it—the red hat and coat. 

He gasped in the vapor from his whiskey and fell into a fit of violent coughing. He slammed the glass down on the table and tried to regain control of his windpipe. He fished into his pockets for his breath mints and quickly popped one into his mouth. Chase stumbled across the room and slapped his hand down on the rouge shoulder.

“You! You are under arrest!” He coughed triumphantly.

Mime Bomb almost could not believe the detective had made such a scene already. Almost. He slowly raised his gloved hands and cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. The hand slipped off his shoulder accompanied by a loud groan of frustration which turned into something like a roar. 

The young man turned in his chair to watch the detective crumple to the floor in a dejected crouch, knees to his chest and hands limp on the ground. Mime was impressed with the flexibility. He made an exaggerated sigh—mostly with his shoulders—and waved his hand at the detective’s face to get his attention. 

“It’s just you,” the detective moaned, “I should ‘ave known.”

Mime wrenched his face in mock offense, placing a hand delicately on his chest. He pointed to the hat and wiggled jazz fingers. Mime pointed to Devineaux, then pointed two fingers to indicate eyes, and then pointed at the hat. The detective would have noticed it from miles away—a sure fire way to get his attention.

“Fine,” the detective conceded, standing and sitting opposite Mime Bomb, “you ‘ave fifteen minutes.”

Mime did not break eye contact as, with a blank expression, he started an imaginary stop watch. The detective made a mocking face.

It was rather hard for Mime to concentrate, sitting across from Devineaux. He had a soft spot for lucky  
idiots and this man fit the trope like it was made for him. The spy had been enamored the entirety of their first encounter and lewdly entertained for a few days following thanks to his interrogation. He almost couldn’t believe his own luck when V.I.L.E. had opted to send Mime himself to bait the cop.

He spared a few seconds to shed his disguise, laying the hat on an empty chair to his right and folding the jacket onto the back of the chair behind him. The room’s neon lights were dimmed slightly by the black make-up on the edges of his vision. He was now so accustomed to wearing the makeup that the nights he was bare-faced he felt like he was missing something very important. He was starting to really dislike his bare-face in the mirror too but this was not the time for self reflection.

Mime fixed Devineaux with a smirk and began his charade. He indicated himself and then made with a fake pick, pausing to wipe his brow with the physical strain of such menial labour.

“You are… working?” 

Mime’s eyebrows lifted at the detective’s quick guess. He nodded and pointed then to the hat, using his free hand to cross his fingers. This made the detective pause.

Chase frowned. The first bit had been easy to guess but this… was a little trickier. He watched as the mime indicated the hat once more, twisting his fingers as if that was the key. Devineaux shrugged in frustration, narrowing his eyes. He was about to stand up and leave when the mime added a step, pointing to the hat and then to himself before entwining his fingers.

“Ah!” Chase gasped, slamming a fist onto the table in excitement. “You are workin’ wiz ‘er!”

Chase’s excitement was short lived as the mime wiggled a horizontal hand side-to-side in the universal symbol for ‘sort of’. Chase growled.

“Zhis is ridiculous! Ef you are worried about being over’eard we could go somewhere else. Zese charades are infantile,” Devineaux crossed his arms over his chest like a pouting child. He lifted one eyebrow curiously as the mime fixed Chase with a dark look and bit momentarily on his bottom lip. The Frenchman narrowed his eyes as the mime waved his hands at the air, shaking his head in a negative. Chase was about to leave when the mime made a series of very quick hand gestures that were very clearly not charades, then paused to cover his ears with gloved hands.

“Oh,” Chase muttered in embarrassment, clearing his throat, “I see, carry on.”

In the academy sign language had been one of the available languages options but of course Devineaux had to pick English. He was sorely regretting his choices now. Luckily his ignorance hadn’t offended the mime enough for the man to leave. 

Chase narrowed his eyes in concentration as the mime repeated working with Carmen and then jerked a thumb behind himself. Chase frowned and shook his head. The mime repeated the action slower.

“You are… working wiz ‘er… behind you?” Chase tried, feeling his face turn red with frustration as the mime shook his head negative and attempted once more to pass this message along. Devineaux could almost feel the lightbulb click.

“In ze past!” He shouted, then cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You worked wiz ‘er in ze past.” As the mime tapped his nose and pointed at Devineaux the detective felt like a dog offered a biscuit. If had a tail it would have been wagging. 

“Zat means you ‘ave inside knowledge about ‘er, oui?” Chase felt his pulse quicken, “and you are willing to share zhis information wiz me?”

His high was immediately crushed as the mime held up both hands and shook his head as a clear ‘no’.

“Well, zhen, what is ze point of telling me zhis?!”

Mime Bomb smiled and placed a hand on his chest. He pointed to Devineaux and entwined his fingers  
again slowly. He leaned forward and smirked as he watched Devineaux easily translate this message. 

“No, absolument ne pas. I work alone—” the detective seemed to get stuck on the words, frowning. “Well, I do ‘ave a partner but she is still very green. I do most of my work alone and will not lower myself to work wiz ze likes of someone who ‘as openly admitted to working wiz Carmen Sandiego.”

The spy heaved another exaggerated sigh and moved to stand. He was stopped as Devineaux grabbed his wrist, taking a moment to compose himself before turning to glance at the older man. He lifted his eyebrows at the sheepish look that awaited him.

“I—I may ‘ave spoken too soon,” the detective pointed to the newly vacant chair, “per’aps we can come to some kind of agreement?”

Mime smiled slowly and languidly returned to his seat. Now it was time to play hard to get. He tried to keep his façade professional because deep down he could think of a few things that would easily get him to spill his guts, as it were. His orders from V.I.L.E. were clear though and getting close enough to Devineaux to find out about the new agency that had scooped him up was top priority.

Mime Bomb crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at the detective. His body posture clearly stated ‘your move’. He watched with tingling amusement as the detective rubbed the back of his neck. He almost felt his mouth water as the same hand pulled across dark stubble while the older man considered his options deeply.

“I suppose I can make an exception zhis one time,” Devineaux held up a single finger. “Working togezer may be worth it if it means I can finally catch zat blasted thief.” 

Mime nodded slowly but kept his face expressionless, which was an expression in and of itself contenting with his make-up. His firmly planted grin took some work to nullify. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and tried not to reminisce on the agent’s tough hands there weeks ago. 

“What is in zhis for you?” The detective pressed quietly. He couldn’t offer much from his new position in A.C.M.E. With Interpol he had enough seniority and experience to make offers, to get things and bend the rules a little. He was still new to this new agency and had very little standing. He wondered just how much he could get away with if he had the promise of Carmen Sandiego?

Mime Bomb smiled just a little and leaned forward. He was thrilled when the detective followed his lead and did the same. The spy reached up and slowly dragged a finger across his throat and watched the gesture register on the sharp features before him. His stomach flopped as he was rewarded with a small smirk from the detective. It made him look chaotic and impish.

“Oh-ho, I ‘ad no idea you were so… dark, but I am afraid I cannot let you do zat. She belongs behind bars for ‘er crimes—your revenge will ‘ave to be seeing ‘er locked up for life, oui?”

Mime frowned and looked away sadly, pouting his lip out and taking a moment as if he were considering Devineaux’s words. After a second he nodded and held out his hand. He watched eagerly as Chase held out a hand and then paused.

“You will follow my lead, understood? I am ze experienced agent, you are but a street performer. I will call ze shots and you will do as I say. Are we agreed?”

Mime made an X over his chest and nodded, closing his eyes to add to his sincerity. The two men then shook hands—both smirking, both assuming they had the upper hand. Devineaux would use Mime’s intel to catch Carmen without actually exchanging anything and Mime would use Devineaxu to gain information about V.I.L.E.’s new nemesis… maybe get laid in the process.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is unabashed porn. You've been warned.

Devineaux frowned as he pressed his binoculars forward again and heard them clink against the window. He could barely see the café and their target—a priceless bottle of wine on display in the center of the café’s outdoor dining area—and he was curious as to how he was supposed to protect said target without having eyes on it.

Mime Bomb grinned, pinning his tongue between his teeth just behind his lips as he turned his binoculars towards his own target. Seated on the bed behind Devineaux he already had a nice view but with the binoculars he could really appreciate the detective’s finest asset…

“Are you sure zhis is ze best place to be?” Chase growled as he spun around, catching his strange companion staring at the ceiling with the second pair of binoculars. The detective frowned. 

Mime nodded vigorously. He indicated himself and his partner and covered his face. He made a sweeping motion at his brow and an hourglass figure in the air in front of him. He uncorked an imaginary bottle of wine which then vanished with a show of his hands. He pumped his arms at his sides and then pointed to the alley below them. 

Devineaux was not pleased he understood the charades presented to him so quickly. He had tried to get the mime to write things down a few days earlier but that had been fruitless—the young man was dedicated to his craft that was certain. The detective rubbed at his temples and placed a hand on his hip. 

Mime tilted his head to the side. He let his eyes drink in the older man like those rich snobs were about to drink in the world’s most expensive wine. Devineaux’s coat was gone—hung over the back of a chair—and his tie was just about gone, loosened so much a strong breeze could have ripped it off. The first few buttons from the collar were undone and his shoes had been discarded at the door. Mime felt drunk.

Chase continued grumbling in frustration and sat down at the foot of his bed. Sharing a hotel room with a mime had not been his ideal way to catch Carmen but he was willing to do anything. Julia was site-seeing and they were supposed to be off for the next few days while A.C.M.E. did some final paperwork so Chase didn’t have to report in to anyone and could focus entirely on the task at hand. He wished he felt some relaxation at the thought but found it was quite the opposite. A tension headache was creeping up on him and it threatened to derail everything.

Mime watched the detective cross the room and sit heavily on the end of his bed. The spy considered himself lucky that the detective had agreed to share a room though he was sour romantic gods hadn’t given him the golden opportunity to find out there were no rooms left with two beds. He sat quietly for a few moments, watching and trying to keep his urges in check, but he was a man of passion and indulgences…

Chase startled and turned his head quickly as he felt the bed behind him sink in. He found his companion kneeling sheepishly behind him—very close behind him. He narrowed his eyes and felt his senses kick in to overdrive.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice laced with suspicion.

Mime paused and smiled in what he hoped was a disarming way. He held up his hands to show no ill intentions. He pointed to his head and winced. He massaged the air in front of him and lifted his eyebrows. He pointed to Devineaux and repeated the massaging maneuver with a smile.

Devineaux was now more confused than ever. He understood the mime’s message perfectly but—why? He could almost feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders tightening as if to urge him to accept the offer. He had been unusually stressed lately. It couldn’t hurt to spare a few moments, could it? It might help him keep up with Carmen and all her acrobatics later. 

“I… suppose, just a quick massage could not ‘urt.”

Mime could not believe his luck and he clapped his hands together silently in joy. He moved in behind the detective on his knees, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He stopped just short of letting his knees touch Devineaux’s back and let his hands slowly settle onto broad shoulders. Oh, oh yes. This was marvelous. He could feel Devineaux’s muscles beneath his hands, his toes wiggled in his socks excitedly.

Chase’s eyes rolled back into his head almost immediately. The rather lithe mime had deceptively strong hands and they immediately went to work. Muscles he didn’t even know he had were coiled around each other but somehow long, gloved fingers found them. It was only a matter of seconds before his posture slackened and he dropped his guard almost entirely. He leaned back and felt the mime’s knees behind him.

Mime Bomb froze for a split second as Devineaux leaned in to him. There was no way it was this easy. His mouth fell agape as not a breath later the detective moaned—deep an unabashed—and Mime repeated the maneuver which had earned him the noise. He shifted just slightly and put himself closer to the older man, willing himself to keep control for just a little while longer.

Chase completely forgot where he was—he forgot about the stake out, forgot about the wine, forgot about Carmen, he even managed to forget that it was more-or-less a stranger giving him the shoulder massage of his life. He wanted to crumple forward and fall backwards at the same time. The squeezing hurt just enough to make him hiss in through his teeth and then sigh out long and low, purring like a cat.

Mime’s smirk fell slightly in sheer wonder as the detective continued to melt into his hands, pliable like putty. The spy just hoped not all of him would stay so soft. He carefully began sliding his hands out towards the ball of Devineaux’s shoulders and then back in towards his neck. While maintaining one hand in a sort of Vulcan pinch to the detective’s neck he moved his other hand towards his throat…

It had been years since Chase had done anything that didn’t directly involve his job and he was almost completely gone to logic. Instead of being on alert he gave in completely and leaned his head back, messy hair coming into contact with the mime’s collarbone. The detective kept his eyes closed in bliss, his mind firing only on the attention to his sore shoulders. His senses tried once more to grab his attention but immediately he decided that five more minutes wouldn’t be long enough to lose Carmen.

Mime Bomb blinked a few times in shock, glancing awkwardly down at the head leaning onto him. His hand was almost around the detective’s throat and the older man had practically given up the ghost. Mime swallowed hard and slid his hand down, away from Devineaux’s throat. Gloved fingers delicately, testingly made their way under the break in the detective’s collar. Mime pressed fingers against the exposed skin moving further until his hand had just about completely vanished under Devineaux’s shirt.

Devineaux’s head was swimming. His logic was slowly starting to resurface but he wasn’t sure how much he believed what it was saying—he was also really, really starved for this kind of attention, for any kind of intimate contact, really. Would it be so bad? He was an adult after-all and though it was hard to gauge an exact age from under the thick make-up, he assumed the mime was of age as well. It was risky; it was stupid…

Mime Bomb let out a slight gasp as the hand under Chase’s shirt was caught, the spell effectively broken. He leaned away slightly as the detective pulled away and sighed, holding Mime’s wrist. It wasn’t a strong hold and the spy knew he could easily pull away but something told him not to. He lifted his eyebrows.

“Zhis… may not be ze best idea,” Agent Devineaux said with a bit more conviction than Mime was expecting, “what wiz our stake-out underway.”

Chase frowned a little as he released the mime’s hand. He cocked his head to the side as the other man simply smirked at him. He watched gloved hands mime a wine bottle being opened and then long arms moved like clock hands to signal 8:00pm. Devineaux glanced at his watch; it was only 6pm. If they were fast... Devineaux slowly looked from his watch up to the still smirking mime.

Mime Bomb frowned as Chase met his eyes. It seemed he’d lost this fight, which was a shame because the set up had been marvelous. He slumped and was about to stand when he heard the detective grumble to himself. The spy tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows, watching the other’s lips.

“I suppose… we do ‘ave… a few ‘ours.”

Chase was taken aback at the large grin that re-appeared on the mime’s face. He felt his own cheeks flush a little and his stomach flop. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, maybe—but his over-thinking was shut down as the mime was almost instantly back on him. It helped for one because it gave him very little time to think and for two because it had been ages since Chase had been in any kind of relationship and really would not have known how to start anything.

The spy pressed both hands on the detective’s broad chest and leaned in, bringing them very close together. He shifted his weight to his arms and felt his own body move as the detective breathed, using the opportunity to swing around and sit in Devineaux’s lap. He wiggled his eyebrows at the detective’s gaping expression and lunged forward to kiss him. He smeared their lips together, smudging his lipstick in the process.

Devineaux was more than shocked by the mime’s eagerness. He sat, dumbfounded and frozen, as the slimmer man swung into his lap. He swallowed hard and was just trying to get his limbs to do something we he was suddenly kissing the mime. He quickly reached up and grabbed the other man’s face in his right hand, sliding his thumb over white make-up. He slid his other hand questioningly up the mime’s back, feeling a surprisingly fit form beneath the striped shirt.

Mime could not believe his luck as his physical affections were returned—perhaps softly, shyly—but returned all the same. He moved his hands to the seam of Devineaux’s shirt and pulled away from the kiss breathlessly. He fixed the detective with an impish grin, his own makeup smeared on the face before him, and ripped the shirt in his hands open. He pulled back further to admire his work, crossing one arm over his chest and stroking his chin with his free hand.

Chase knew a challenge when he saw one and even if he was a little rusty he wasn’t about to lose—especially to a mime. He took a second to stare down at his ruined shirt before deciding to meet the performer’s enthusiasm. With a smirk of his own he reached down and slid his hands under the mime’s thighs. With a loud grunt he stood and threw the mime to the bed in a single motion. He let out a single triumphant laugh and discarded the remnants of his shirt.

Mime was concerned for only a second as he was misplaced and quickly propped himself up on his elbows. As the detective removed what remained of his shirt and pulled away the red tie, the spy chewed on his bottom lip. Devineaux was giving him a look that mimicked his own carnal need and it just about threw him over the edge. The V.I.L.E. graduate slid off the bed and to his knees before the detective, enjoying the slow expression of realization hit the older man’s face. 

Devineaux’s pulse just about tripled as he watched the mime fold off the bed to kneel before him. He swallowed hard and looked down at the other man, his groin twitching in anticipation. Chase lifted his eyebrows as the mime licked his lips and then slid his hands up Devineaux’s legs. The detective reached forward and knocked off the baret, letting his fingers then comb through red hair. He sucked in a breath as the mime began to unfasten his belt—wasting no time.

Mime Bomb kept his tongue pressed between his lips as he quickly undid the detective’s belt, sliding down the zipper with intense concentration. He paused to lean back a little and look up at Devineaux as he popped a single gloved finger into his mouth, bit down and slid the glove free, spitting it onto the floor. He repeated the action with his other hand and then slowly drew his eyes back down to the standing man’s crotch.

Chase’s show of matching the other man’s challenge and being full of risk and mischief was almost completely eradicated as the mime made quick work of the few remaining layers between them. With his hands still tangled in red hair, Devineaux felt the cool breeze on his legs as his boxers were exposed. He could not remember ever having gone from flacid to completely hard so quickly. He swallowed a noise and ended up making a croak-like noise as ungloved hands unabashedly groped his length from outside his boxers.

Mime’s eyebrows lifted slowly in genuine surprise as he stroked the cock before him. He wasn’t expecting anything record-breaking but he was more than a little impressed by what was being offered. He continued at his breakneck pace and slipped his fingers into the officer’s boxers. He heard the man stutter and gasp as Mime Bomb pulled his erection free. He grinned and glanced up to meet Devineaux’s eyes. He mouthed ‘big’ as obviously as he could, knowing by the blush on Chase’s cheeks that the other man understood clearly.

Chase continued to practically pet the mime’s bright red hair, unsure what else to do at the moment. All the air was sucked from his lungs as he watched the mime’s lips—and his just barely ruined lipstick—compliment him. He’d been rather too busy with work—and chasing Carmen Sandiego—to have any kind of sex life (or fantasies for that matter) but another man so eager and kneeling before him? He was pretty sure his teenaged self had hit the jackpot. 

Mime Bomb did not—and had not ever—understood how to move slowly. He was an instant gratification type and he applied his live fast and die young attitude to everything. He often forgot that not everyone had the same lifestyle and he could be quite overwhelming to the average person. Naturally the first thing he did was to immediately take Devineaux’s cock as far into his mouth as he could with no preamble. The reaction earned him a shout of surprise and Devineaux stumbling backwards.

Chase collided with the desk behind him and caught his breath slowly, panting like he’d just run a marathon. Of all the unexpected things he would never in a million years have guessed that was how the mime would have started a blowjob. He braced himself on the table and steeled himself to glance back down at his companion. The mime looked cheeky, almost giggling, and he shrugged at Devineaux when they met eyes. Chase felt his stomach tighten as the Mime scooted forward to close the distance between them once more.

Mime leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Devineaux’s stomach—well, as chaste as he could given the situation—and then another slightly lower. He pressed one more just above the band of Devineaux’s boxers and nuzzled his head there to make sure he left a lip print. He reached up as he did so and wrapped a dexterous hand around the detective’s cock, stroking once slowly. He rested his temple against the detective’s stomach, half-lidded eyes watching as he stroked a few more times. 

Chase groaned deeply at this new sensation, returning his right hand to the mime’s hair while his left gripped the edge of the desk with white knuckles. He lavished attention on the red-head’s hair as his cock was tended to, unused to such acts of devotion. He tried to keep his hips from jerking, his muscles contracting against the mime’s temples. He dropped his chin to his chest to watch lewdly, jerking in anticipation as the mime moved forward and planted a wet kiss to the side of his cock.

The spy pulled his head away and circled the head of Chase’s erection with a single finger, coming to a stop underneath. He leaned forward and kissed the crown tenderly before licking a swipe up the center with earned him a loud hiss. He chuckled breathlessly and repeated the kiss and lick. The second time he left his tongue underneath the head of the cock, almost like a pillow, and slowly looked up to meet eyes.

Chase cursed under his breath at the sultry look he received. His breath hitched in his throat as the mime slowly took just the head of his cock into his mouth. The warmth was encompassing, aided by the press of a wet tongue to the underside. Keeping just that little bit in his mouth Chase’s fingers tightened shakily in red hair as he felt the tongue slowly circle. Their visual connection broke as the mime looked away and took just a little more of Devineaux into his mouth.

Mime Bomb began bobbing his head along Devineaux’s length, taking in a little more each time. He spread his knees a little and reached into his own pants. He’d been hard for a little while now and shifting in his underwear was moist and uncomfortable. Bracing one hand on Devineaux’s hips the spy managed to slip the elastic band of both his underwear and his pants under his cock, freeing himself to the hotel air. He began leisurely strokes to his erection as it continued on Chase’s.

The detective tightened his grip in his companion’s hair, applying just a little bit of pressure to find a pace he knew would work. The mime was pliant and easy to instruct and the thought caused Chase’s cock to jerk in response. The mime did not seem put off in the slightest and Devineaux gave in to his body’s urgings. He began thrusting and twisting his hips—gently—as the mime began hollowing out his cheeks. The white paint was now slightly mussed with red paint and moisture and it made the whole thing seem taboo.

The spy rolled Devineaux’s cock in his mouth obscenely, letting a mixture of precum and spit drip down his chin. He increased his grip on his own erection imagining the agent throwing him onto the bed like he had before. His cock throbbed in his hand as he imagined Chase pinning him down, that stubble rough against his painted face. He swallowed around the cock in his mouth and imagined it between his legs, deep—hard. 

Chase gasped and suddenly grasped the mime’s head with both hands. He let his head fall back and pulled the mime closer—thrilled when the red-head obeyed willingly, eagerly. His voice sounded strained and breathless as he moaned loudly, cumming with the mime’s white nose smearing paint on the waistband of his boxers. His voice fell into something like whimpers as he released red hair and sunk back most of his weight to the desk at his back.

Mime Bomb swallowed as if it was his job, eyes watering just slightly. He pulled away slowly, deliberately as wet as he could, panting. He licked his lips and took stock of the paint staining Devineaux’s boxers, cock and stomach. Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth he began pumping himself furiously. His hair fell into his face, wet and disheveled, and he made a strained noise himself as he came, spilling over his hand and onto the hotel carpet. It was just as well—he wore black pants and hadn’t brought a spare.

Chase ran his hand into his hair, which really didn’t do much as it was usually messy anyway. He tried to catch his breath as he placed himself—sloppily—back into his pants. He awkwardly, almost shyly, chanced a look at the mime at his feet. The man’s makeup was a disaster, he looked debauched but incredibly pleased with himself—the cat that caught the canary. His legs were splayed and he was still exposed. Under the detective’s eyes he licked his lips and Chase gave a nervous laugh.

Mime Bomb took his time tucking himself back into his pants, he was still sensitive and tired. The detective moved away from the window and the spy watched lazily the muscles along the man’s back move as he walked. He narrowed his eyes slightly as a sudden red and blue pattern began to play against Chase’s skin. As it sunk in that he was seeing a reflection of police lights his eyes grew wide.

Both men turned their attention to the window as the alarm of sirens hit Devineaux’s ears. The detective nearly tripped over himself to press his face against the glass. He could just barely make out a familiar silhouette slip into an alley. Knowing he would never compose himself enough to catch her in time Chase slammed his fist into the window and let out a shout. 

Mime Bomb chuckled soundlessly from the floor.


End file.
